


a distant ship's smoke on the horizon

by lullabelle



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Miracle Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabelle/pseuds/lullabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack heals. Esther copes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a distant ship's smoke on the horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/gifts).



> Takes place during Miracle Day, after Jack was shot and he flees with Esther.

The first time Esther tries to drive in Wales, she nearly takes out a telephone pole, and ends up missing her turn off the roundabout twice. Jack can’t help but laugh at her, an action which sends a wave of pain through his side. His fingers twitch with the urge to clutch, but he’s learned that when it comes to open wounds clinging only hurts.

\---

Jack takes the opportunity to check out Esther’s legs, the ridiculous heels make her ankles look dainty, her legs shapely, but he’d experienced first-hand how powerful they were that time she’d kicked him in the gut in the foyer. Just as he was settling in for a good, prolonged leer and raising his (hot hot very hot) coffee for an exploratory sip, Esther sends them hurtling over a pothole. The hot liquid floods Jack’s mouth, scorching his tongue and making his eyes water. He takes the whole thing as a sign and looks out the window instead.

\---

Jack pauses to skitter his hands across Esther’s stomach, making her suck it in, ticklish. He moves it downward, hooks one corner of her panties with his thumb. She lifts her hips to help, and then they’re gone, and he’s resting his cheek on her ribcage, just below her perfect breasts, just looking at her.

Esther bites her lip, all of those self conscious feelings she’d managed to beat back suddenly rearing their ugly heads. “Jack, if your next words contain ‘carpets’ or ‘curtains’, I swear to God...”

Jack grins, twisting his head up a bit awkwardly to swipe his tongue against one instantly-hardened nipple before drawing even with her face. He looks her in the eye and says, “I think you’re beautiful.”

And then she’s kissing him, partially to stop him from talking, but mostly because she wants to, hungry, seeking, and wow does he have a lot of teeth. She laughs a little into his mouth, and when he pulls back to ask “What?” she just shakes her head and pulls his mouth back to hers. Where it belongs. For now.

\--

Jack and Owen are chasing Weevils in Bute Park. Ianto has managed to pull ahead somehow, and so he’s too far away when the turns suddenly, too fast for Ianto to raise his gun or the Weevil repellent and he’s about to die and Jack is just so far away he can’t help and he hates himself for it and Owen’s an impassive blur and when he turns Jack can’t quite make out his face. The Weevil opens his maw, filled with more teeth than the average Weevil and it seems to be grinning when it clamps--

The hand on his shoulder jolts him awake. There is no Weevil, no Owen. Just the hard cot in his room under his office, the bitter-delicious smell of brewing coffee and, “Ianto,” he sighs.

Behind him, Ianto inhales sharply and withdraws his hand. The voice that answers was soft and female with flat vowels -- she speaks his stolen language the same way he does. “No. Sorry.”

The hard mattress shifts a bit as Esther stands again, retreats to the kitchen to give him space while reality settles back down on him, like a lead weight in his chest. Mornings like this don’t happen too often anymore. He almost misses them, those instances when Ianto feels so close, so present, like any moment he’ll snake one dress-shirt clad arm around Jack’s chest to wake him. He always pays for it later though, when his memories rush back and bring with them a sense of despair that crushes his chest and hollows out his stomach. He stays still, facing the wall and breathing evenly until the threatening sting behind his eyes goes away.

He doesn’t hear Esther approach until she is back beside his cot, the fall of her shadow against the wall alerting him. He twists to see her, the motion sending a stab of pain through his side

“Easy,” she says, seeing him wince. She’s holding gauze and medical tape in one hand, a steaming mug of coffee in the other. “I have to change your dressing. You’ve bled through.”

Jack snorts. Isn’t that a metaphor.

Esther ignores him sitting behind him on the cot and pulling his t-shirt up to his ribs.

“Why am I healing so slowly?” Jack asks. Evidently the sour mood is going to stick today.

“I’m not an expert, but I’d say you’re healing pretty normally,” Esther tells him, unperturbed. She almost adds, You’re lucky to be alive, but they’re both aware and she doesn’t want to provoke him by stating the obvious. Instead she says, because the curiosity is killing her and she can’t help it, “Who’s Ianto?”

There’s a long pause. Just when Esther is certain Jack’s not going to answer, he says, “Ianto was Torchwood.”

Esther knows enough to know that, “Ianto was Torchwood,” translates into, “Ianto died young and violently.” And she knows enough about Jack now to know that Ianto was more than just “Torchwood”. She lets it go.


End file.
